Paternity
by SeekerAstria
Summary: Of all the aspects of human nature Shinigami had acquired over the centuries, he never would have imagined fatherhood would be one of them. Five short pieces about Death and his child.
1. Soul

A/N - These pieces are connected by a theme - Shinigami and Death the Kid - and are in chronological order. Because of the length and time differences, I have split this up into chapters.

1. Soul

The first thing that struck Shinigami was the _size_ of the thing. He had collected the souls of countless young children, frequently the innocent casualties of a Kishin's avarice for chaos and wanton destruction. So, he knew what they looked like; small, fragile and so pale as to be almost transparent for they lacked the colour and size human souls gained through the wealth of experience that came from life. But this one, its owner no longer than his hand and hours old, had an energy to it that was quite different; intense, fierce and promising a power and influence far beyond the human fare.

Bright yellow eyes gazed up at him, focussing in a way Shinigami was fairly sure would be impossible for human children of the same age. Certainly they didn't see what this little one was capable of perceiving; the soul of every living thing, the places that lay where no living human could tread but would all, in death, travel to.

Yet it was unfamiliar to Shinigami to consider his own nature in this way. He had never, not since the first soul died upon the earth, needed to contemplate just how his personal duty – not the work of human Technicians – could be carried out by another. He was Death itself, simple and absolute: the image of the thing and the _whole_ of the thing. Once, it was the work of a moment to see across all possibilities, the fates of souls from the newborn human to the ancient witch. Asura's betrayal and resultant imprisonment had greatly limited Shinigami's influence in the world. His sight was clouded by the seal that bound him within the foundations of Shibusen and the boundary of Death City.

A sound broke through Shinigami's thoughts. The baby, resting awkwardly in one arm, had begun to cry softly, apparently vying for attention more than anything else.

"You shouldn't do that, you know. You're not hurt or anything, are you?" Shinigami muttered, having picked up from running a school full of young humans and the odd parent member of staff that a crying child was going to be annoyed about _something_. He decided to be rational. That generally worked with adults, at least

"All right. I've never – ever – had to look after a child. _But_," He raised his free hand in emphasis "it seems you are mine, and I'm sure if I put some effort into it, I can adapt yes?" Effort. Adaptability. They were the sorts of things he told his students, who thrived on positivity because the alternative could – literally – kill them. In this case, the boy paused as though taking in this determined claim of parenthood. He was staring, as though transfixed, at Shinigami's hand.

"What? Oh, this?" Shinigami waved slowly being rather impressed by the way the child's gaze followed his fingers back and forth. Then, a tiny hand copied the motion; a sign of life here, of all places. Standing upon the banks of the river crossed by myriad souls, Shinigami was struck by the feeling that, for the first time in centuries, he had a true connection to the world and the humans that inhabited it. Granted, it wasn't the sort he'd ever had expected but maybe this turn of events would be a blessing in disguise. It wouldn't be easy for the boy, for Shinigami had come into the world in a position of utmost authority and certain duty. He'd never had to _grow_ into it – it was simply what he _was_. Yet the soul he gazed upon now, in healthy mind and body, was so close to his own, so similar as to even resonate with it on a minute level; an indelible connection of blood and spirit. A life created to ensure death. There was a clear and perhaps cruel contradiction in that kind of nature.

These aspects were to be expected, after all; this was the soul of his…son. No wonder Shinigami felt as though he was looking into a mirror.


	2. Child

2. Child

There was no mistaking it. Shinigami watched with a critical eye as the two year-old boy walked with great determination and purpose towards the long mirror. The child's soul was that of a god, but in form he appeared to be any other human. He was an exceptionally fast learner, and many who had met him were disturbed by his ability to know the state of their souls with barely a glance. Weapons were referred to by their type ('Scythe' hoped his little girl would one day see souls too), and he had an acute sense of different wavelengths. But these were all minor differences compared to a life surrounded by the variety of the human world. Shinigami almost regretted it, and definitely didn't relish the day his son realised he would have to leave much of it behind.

The majority of humans had an inbuilt fear of Shinigami. Whatever their culture or background most faced Death with suspicion and dread. The few who didn't were those who'd had time to come to terms with death and when their time came entered the silent lands without fear. Between the worlds of the living and the dead Shinigami had often to remonstrate with listless and wandering souls who were unable to accept their mortality. Innocent souls could not be forced to move on; that was not his way, nor his responsibility. All would eventually find their way forward. Such was the duty that the child, who at some point had ended up being called 'Death _the Kid_' for want of a name that didn't confuse him with his father, would one day inherit. But, for now…

--

Death the Kid poked at the mirror, fascinated by how his touch made ripples across the surface as though it was water. After a moment, he took a step backwards in surprise as the blank mirror shimmered and refocused into a reflection of the young shinigami. Dressed in his usual black, a habit he had picked up from his father's appearance, Kid paused in his examination of the mirror to brush a speck of dust from his sleeve. There. All neat again. He sighed,

"Something wrong, Kid?"

The boy turned to see his father watching him. He stuck his hands in his pockets and stared gloomily at the ground;

"People live and die, right? We know that."

"Ye-s, most _definitely_!" The other shinigami spread his hands widely in emphasis.

"It's ordered. Why isn't everything _else_?"

Shinigami shrugged; "It's humanity, Kid. It can be…messy, at times."

"'Messy' like Kishin?"

"Oh, no, no not that kind of chaos. That's unnatural and shouldn't happen when things are running, as you say, in order." Shinigami patted Kid on the head in reassurance. Goodness, since when had he equated simple disorder with Kishin?

"But I know that Kishin are…mad. Dangerous. They don't have order, either." Kid recalled the simple terms Shinigami had used to explain to the boy those nasty red souls that occasionally came near the city. He knew the child understood more than he let on, but like the truth of his duty he couldn't quite bring himself to break the innocence Kid still possessed.

"True, but what you need to remember is…" Shinigami broke off, raising a finger to speak, only lowering it as he tried to phrase what he wanted to say.

"People. Humans, need a little bit of disorder. They make choices that are the wrong ones, and hopefully learn from them. There are mistakes, mess."

"Then we should make them choose the right things. Then there'll be no mess." Kid said simply.

At this statement, Shinigami looked down at Kid to reply sternly, no humour in his tone;

"No. Absolutely not. We have our duty, Kid, and we do not interfere with how humans live unless it leads to kishin. It's called free will and we _cannot_ remove it from them. Do you understand?"

Kid gasped, wide-eyed at this sudden severity.

"Y-yes, father."

--

He would learn, Shinigami thought later that night when Kid was asleep. He did not regret being a little harsh on the boy; there were some things that the little shinigami just had to understand at an early age. It was Shinigami's own responsibility to make sure that this was the case. In a way, it was something else that had to be in order. Were it not, if Kid were to believe he could apply his one-day vast influence however he pleased, the result would be unbearable. Even today, treading over theories that were second nature to him, the ancient god had encountered something new in his child; the fervency with which Kid had insisted that the whole _world_ be in order. It was a childish notion, but not without its merits. Anyway, they'd cleared up the disagreement, and Shinigami hoped that would be the end of it.

In retrospect, as over the following years he watched this seed of anxiety grow into a peculiar obsession, Shinigami considered he probably should have known better.

A/N - Were he human, Kid is of course far too young to be questioning the world like this. As a shinigami, in this instance I see him as having a different and more advanced perspective on the world. Whether it's good or bad is another matter...


	3. Father

3. Father

Claws slashing madly at its attacker, the Kishin-corrupted human shrieked defiance but to no avail. There were few things in this day and age which truly angered Shinigami, but the sight of a demon god – even a potential one – in his city irked him greatly. The fact it had come near to his house was even worse. He had a _son_ to care for. Shinigami brought his weapon down in a long, practiced motion, cleaving the monster in two. The black blade reflected the moonlight as the newly released egg of Kishin appeared in the air, and Shinigami was certain he heard Spirit snigger at the prospect of a quick snack. It seemed the man had a quiet but fervent likening for the souls he absorbed. Naturally, it wasn't unheard of in Weapons, but in one with a Death Scythe's responsibilities it was something to keep an eye on.

A nod passed between Weapon and Technician as Spirit stepped forward to claim his prize for the evening's work. Shinigami turned towards the house, more concerned that Kid was inside and asleep. A cry from inside shattered this possibility and his calm. Had Shinigami a heart to speak of, it would have skipped a beat at the sound. As it was, Albarn was left alone on the road as the Shinigami vanished in a blur of shadows.

Shinigami found Kid in the corner of his bedroom, squeezed up as tight against the wall as he could manage. Purple and black shadows, monstrous to human eyes, shifted around him as sheer terror provoked an instinctual defence against the egg of Kishin which had come – in Kid's mind at least – so close to feasting on his soul. Shinigami stared at the scene for a moment. It wasn't often his son was afraid or upset, his father made sure of that much, but it was a painful shock to see this reaction. He approached slowly, threads of macabre energy flailing weakly as Kid noticed his father's presence, though he kept his head in his hands. Shinigami lowered himself down to face Kid, cocking his head on one side not knowing what to say. He held out one hand and placed it on the boy's bowed head.

"It's gone. I destroyed it. You're safe, now."

This was replied with a loud sniff as Kid scrubbed at his face with one hand, evidently not wanting to show he'd been crying.

"Father?"

"Yes?" Shinigami kept his voice low and gentle, consciously so because not even five years had made him confident of just how to deal with things like this.

"It…wanted to kill me, didn't it? I could feel the soul. It was empty but so _hungry_."

"Yes. The eggs of Kishin do like powerful souls."

"Mine is a powerful soul." Kid muttered a bold yet accurate statement.

"True, true, you are a shinigami. Just like me!" Shinigami chuckled at this and patted Kid on the head, seeing a faint smile cross the boy's face. The cold energy had subsided and now they sat in the darkness, only the light of the moon illuminating father and son. Now Kid shook his head,

"No. Not just like you, not yet." He closed his eyes, and Shinigami felt a hand on his. Looking down he noticed Kid had gripped one finger tightly in a tacit show of fear, distress and the kind of comfort he would never admit he got from Shinigami's presence. To all other Technicians and Weapons in the world, Shinigami was the image of death, both feared and revered for his absolute authority. But for Death's son he was simply 'father'.


	4. Son

4. Son

It was inevitable, Shinigami _knew_ this well enough. However powerful Kid was or would grow to be, obstacles and trials would be unavoidable. God he might be, but he was young and inexperienced. No amount of self-confidence could entirely remove the possibility that something would eventually go wrong. Shinigami looked at the figure in the bed, musing briefly that they would probably appreciate the stark cleanliness of Shibusen's infirmary. The combination of white sheets and Kid's black hair made him appear even paler than he was as he lay motionless in the bed, unconscious. Even the knowledge that he would survive hadn't assuaged Shinigami's concern; it was a father's worry, after all, something which was set apart from all the certainty that being a death god gave him.

Shinigami had almost laughed when a frantic and angry Liz had explained what had happened. The trio had set out to collect the soul of a witch who had been sacrificing human lives in magical experiments. It was simple crime which required swift attention, and so had features which neatly fitted Kid's method of operation. But somewhere along the way, things started to go wrong. Liz and Patty had become separated from Kid, allowing the witch to target the younger sister in an effort to disarm the shinigami. A conjured spear had shot towards Patty, and would have killed her instantly had Kid not got in front of her. It took more than physical injury to destroy a god but being run through, Stein had pointed out bluntly afterwards, was a damn good start.

Apparently even then Kid had remained conscious for long enough to berate the witch about his blood-soaked jacket. After relaying this point Liz had tearfully collapsed into hapless hysterical laughter and had loudly proclaimed she was going to the toilets to clean up. She departed leaving Patty unusually quiet, waiting for Stein to finish checking on Kid. There wasn't much to be done, for his injuries would heal of their own accord with or without medical intervention, but Shinigami felt glad of Stein's expertise. He tried to ignore the nagging possibility that the good doctor was more interested in dissecting the boy further rather than stitching him back up.

They were alone now, as everyone who had been milling around – a quiet but concerned Maka, and an equally worried but anything but quiet Black Star – had left some time ago. Liz and Patty had gone home after the nurse had insisted on it, promising that she'd contact them if there was any change. They had ended up dragging the boisterous ninja out with them, pointing out in no uncertain terms that if Black Star didn't shut up and let Kid sleep, the Pistols would shoot him in the head.

Shinigami looked at Kid's soul briefly, rather alarmed to see the usually strong and constant wavelength quivering only slightly with pain and fear. Not that Kid would admit either aloud, of course.

"You do make _me_ worry, you know?" Shinigami admitted to his son, patting his hand with two large fingers. "You destroyed that Pharaoh quite easily, but only after it almost killed you. Kid, you're far too young for me to be collecting _your_ soul." He reprimanded sternly, but was glad his mask could not betray the anxiety Shinigami felt at the prospect. It was another once-foreign emotion that parenthood threw to the fore from time to time.

Kid stirred then, twitching stiffly under the blankets as consciousness slowly returned. Shinigami moved to one side to give his son some space; he would be disorientated and obviously in pain. He watched closely as the boy's eyes opened. For a moment, Kid stared blankly before his mind caught up with the state his body was in.

He gave a gasp of pain before gritting his teeth against it, digging his fingers into the bed-sheets; "Patty! She…"

"She's fine!" Shinigami said quickly, placing a hand on Kid's shoulder to prevent him form trying to sit up. "You're the one who's injured! Just…stay _still_, okay?"

"But-" Kid raised his head, only to flop back weakly against the pillow, even the small effort being too much.

"No complaints." Shinigami ordered calmly, "That spear struck you in the abdomen and, well, let's just say it's a good job you're a shinigami, hmm?"

"You…don't…say?" Kid muttered breathlessly, having resigned himself to being flat on his back and essentially immobile. Reaching a shaking hand under the blanket, he cautiously examined the bandages around his stomach. They felt neat, at least, and so were possibly Stein's work although they were only there to stop things getting too messy. It was a stark reminder to Kid, not that he needed one, that he only _looked_ human. His body felt weak, even exhausted. That thought worried him more than the knowledge of his injuries. Kid looked over at his father, who hadn't removed his hand and seemed to be waiting for something. Surely his father had something more important to attend to? Surely he knew his son's life wasn't in danger? Kid cleared his throat, unsure what to say next once he actually gathered the energy to speak. Well, he could always say he was tired and sleep instead…

The fact was that his honourable father professed his love for his son often enough – mostly in the form of saying he found his blasted stripes _cute_ – which meant seriousness rarely came up. And the number of times Kid had been severely injured was next to none. All in all, this wasn't the kind of thing the boy was comfortable with. Yet lying here in silence meant the pain crept into his mind, suffusing Kid's body with nothing but burning agony. He was certain he'd never felt such a thing, and he definitely didn't intend on getting a second example. Even sighing wearily at the idea resulted in a particularly fierce jolt of pain through Kid's chest. This time, he couldn't suppress a yelp of pain and a muffled curse. This wouldn't do, really: gods couldn't be having with pain and injury. It was a nuisance. He squeezed his eyes shut and willed the pain to subside. After a moment, he felt the rough weight of Shinigami's hand upon his in a simple gesture of reassurance that recalled a faint memory, years ago, of when a kishin had come that bit too close to the young shinigami.

No, his father wouldn't leave even if his son asked. And in that moment, Kid was truly glad of it.


	5. Death

5. Death

It was both a name and the thing itself; an identity and an action, eternal duty and ultimate consequence. The final judgement placed upon humanity by one who stood just outside of it. Right now, it was getting violent.

A bleeding moon shone onto Death City, its perpetual grin seeming to mock the events miles below in the damp streets. In an alleyway there was a screech of metal as a warehouse door burst outwards. From the resulting hole a huge figure lurched, a mess of eyes, limbs and cankerous flesh. Any student of Shibusen could have noted it bore the hallmarks of a soul infested by deep insanity, perhaps once human but now mutated beyond all recognition by the consumption of innocent souls. Some Technicians might also point out that it would sorely test the patience of a certain graduate. They would have been right.

"Tell me, do you think this one _likes_ to try my patience?" Another figure watched as the kishin lumbered down the alleyway towards a dead-end. This person was tall, almost unnaturally so, dressed with sombre but impeccable style and, it was hard to miss, total symmetry. In each hand he held a pistol of deep black and oddly polished metal as though there was something a little unreal about them. A voice rose from the left-hand weapon, in a trill of delight; "Yep! Totally! Let's blow him away!"

The second gun was more sensible; "Take it easy. We're in a small space, so lure him out."

The black-clad Technician put his head on one side. "No. I believe there is a neater option."

Leaving the doorway he leapt easily onto the warehouse roof, giving him an aerial view of his surroundings before addressing his quarry, "Excuse me, you there?"

The kishin turned awkwardly and stared up into bright yellow eyes. Somewhere in a brain fettered by madness a slight fear arose; it had preyed upon many souls, but _this_ one was a predator. No normal soul had eyes like that, or the wicked serpentine shadows that gathered like a cloak around the man, more still lashing at the sky and licking the corrugated roof beneath his feet. In the primordial depths of their souls, human and kishin alike could put a name to a figure like that; Death.

"Mister Charles Parish? You are no more than an egg of Kishin, a rotten example of humanity. You _disgust_ me, and for that I shall take your soul." The speech was calm and succinct, and belied the ferocious soul energy that the speaker now gathered around himself. The creature once known as Parish tried in vain to escape the alley. Risking another glance upwards, its many eyes reflected the barrels of the guns pointed with deadly accuracy straight at the gross and tonight very unfortunate kishin. Dark energy scythed through the air, obliterating all that it touched, to leave the alleyway eerily empty.

As his half-life was extinguished, the former Mr. Parish saw an odd sight. In the split second before his soul was claimed, he could have sworn that his executioner's face was nothing but a bare skull…


End file.
